


Sharp Smiles

by Mad_Madame_Mim



Category: Markiplier Egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Biting, Other, This is pretty tame I just wanted vampire Host ngl, Vampire AU, mental manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Madame_Mim/pseuds/Mad_Madame_Mim
Summary: The Host loves having visitors for lunch.





	Sharp Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> Just a goofy gift for a friend of mine who likes vamps as much as I do. xD

Blinking at the darkened soundstage, you weren't quite certain why you had decided to come here. The first thing you noticed was a single source of light: an old-fashioned banker's lamp with a green shade and dangling pull cord, sending a pool of soft light across a felt-top desk, to your far left. The second thing you noticed was that you weren't alone.

The lamplight outlined the edge of a coat sleeve, picking out the stitches of a leather gloved hand gripping the edge of the desk. The rest of the body was in shadow as deep as the amused purr of sound you were greeted with, “So kind of you to join me. I love when listeners visit.”

The hand moved, and the man was swallowed by the dark.

Hairs rising on the back of your neck, you turned towards the only other source of light, the murk from the partly open door you'd come from, moving slowly but purposefully towards-

The door clicked shut, a shifting line of shadows that your mind's eye saw more than your actual ones as a splayed hand, pressing against the frame. The voice rumbled from there, placid and thick in your ears, “I love when I have visitors. What is a Host without guests, after all?”

There was a pause, before, “And, of course, the timing is perfect.” There was a faint intake of breath, closer than before. “You can join me for lunch.”

For some reason, you didn't like that “of course” addition, and, especially, didn't like the way his voice hung on the word lunch. You wanted out of there. But he was between you and the exit.

And getting closer.

Without light to see by, you could hardly tell when your eyes were open, eyelids peeled back almost painfully, as if you could soak up more light, that way. A strange paranoia set in that you could walk into anything and be blinded, completely, making you shake your head and want to now cover your eyes.

Quickly, you backed up two steps, knowing the “Host” had been advancing, and wanting to remain out of reach. Only to hit a living wall, behind you. The ridges of buttons and the line of a long coat dug into your spine, and you yelped, spinning to face the shadows as gloved fingers stroked your hair.

“I think I made a mistake. I hadn't meant to bother you.” Your voice hit the air like a lead weight hitting cotton. Stark syllables seemed dulled the moment you spoke them. His voice, though, didn't lose its rolling humour at all. “You did make a mistake, but it is one you were meant to make.”

The room was so quiet. You strained to hear where he was coming from in the still air. Was that a footfall? The brush of a coat against something? When he wasn't talking everything was dead silent-

Except, it wasn't. You frowned, noticing for the first time a faint, droning hum that seemed to fill the world in ripples, and almost coil around your ears. Trying to zero in on it, though, left you light headed, stumbling back over an unseen lump on the floor, only to be caught around the waist by a warm arm and pressed back against the buttoned coat.

The drone funneled back into a throat chuckle, just against your temple, as the man said, “Do be careful. There are a number of cords you could trip on.” The sound of his voice, so close to your ear, was far more lulling than it should be.

“I can't see anything,” you protested, weakly. He laughed, bristled chin brushing the shell of your ear. “That's only fair, since neither can I.”

He bent his jaw down until his closed lips slid along the junction between your throat and shoulder. An odd, rough texture was above his cheeks, normally a minuscule difference, but as heightened as your senses felt, it was a stark contrast to the smooth texture of his skin and the sleek, combed back hair. You couldn't fathom what it was. Sunglasses? Did he wear his sunglasses at night?

The half panicked humour rolled right into panic when his mouth opened, teeth gently scraping across sweat beaded skin. Teeth that were decidedly sharper than they should be.

The hand at your waist moved away, reaching up to playfully tilt up your jaw. The sharp teeth -fangs- at your neck pulled back as he whispered into your ear, somehow sounding just as mind numbingly strong in a whisper as a speaking tone, “We're nearing the climax of the story, Subject mine. And you are nearing lunchtime.”

As if those words and the return of the positionless droning had kicked your body into overdrive, you ducked free of the loose grip, ignoring the laughter in the dark as you tried to orientate yourself towards the door out of here, again. 

The lamp. It needed to be on your right for you to face the exit.

Turning, you vaulted into the darkness, only afterwards hit by the instinctive terror that your feet might not land on anything. Or that you'd trip on more cables. But your way was blissfully clear, the air sucking up the sounds of your footsteps as you raced forward, only to meet a thick, cushioned wall.

Hands snapping out along the egg carton siding, you tried, desperately, to search for the door frame, only to feel the man's presence arch over your back, hand falling to encase your own. Once more the droning folded itself into that cloying voice, but not before you could swear you heard nowhere to go…

Light-headed, again, your knees shook as his other hand gripped your free arm, steadying you. “I love when a story ties itself up, neatly.” Without preamble, he was fitting himself into the curve of your spine, the darkness warm with breath on your neck.

At the last, you went limp, managing to startle the unseen monster enough into releasing you as you tumbled, bonelessly, to the floor. “What the…” he intoned, hilariously out of key with his previous play.

You didn't wait to let him get his head back together, only scrabbling across the floor, away from where you felt the weight of his coat. It was, unfortunately, back into the middle of the room.

You heard a rippling growl behind you, more animal than human, and that droning sound took on an edge that seemed to dig into your skull. 

Your hand brushed another thick bunch of cables, and you jerked your head in the direction they led. Blackness to one side, and the lit table to the other. In a split-second decision you decided to make for the light, instincts claiming it was safer, that you could see your attcker coming, at least.

Another, almost curious grumble of sound had you lunging for that light, following the cables until they passed under the desk, rolling your body under it and sending the wheeled chair behind it skittering into the gloom. Unfolding out the other side, you faced the wall of shadows, panting, every line in your body tensed to move again. The second you saw whatever he was, you would bolt, again.

Sure enough, a faint outline appeared at the edge of the lamp glow. He held still long enough that you expected he’d stay in place, blocking your exit. Instead, he calmly walked around one side, and you heard the scrape and squeak of the chair being righted. You didn’t wait. Like a flash you were racing around the opposite side of the desk, on the far side from the lamp, aiming for the exit.

Only to feel hands clap down on your shoulders, vicelike and bruising, hauling you back and across the top of the desk, pinning one arm. Your elbow nearly toppled the lamp, and rough, green felt scraped cheek, neck and shoulder as the hands dragged you until your head tilted back off the edge of the desk.

“You had been doing so well up to that point, really. Does no one believe in climatic horror, anymore?” The Host sounded annoyed, more than anything. “Still, there’s something to be said for amping up the tension even further. Of making the Subject reach beyond their usual limits.”

Not wanting to know what that meant, you were already trying to push yourself up and away, when a gloved hand dug through your hair, dragging you, firmly, back down. The chair was wheeled over, and you felt him settle, outright drumming his fingers on the table, next to your head. This close, the lamp was blinding, making what little you could see a blur of teary colours and shadows. Using your free hand to try to defend yourself only ended with it caught in the hand not gripping your hair, pinning it to your chest.

Almost idly, his fingers splayed, cupping your captured hand while the pad of the index finger dipped into your clavicle. The soft leather made your skin twitch. “Now, since you don’t want to play along with the horror story, I’m just going to have you play another one.”

You’d long since felt your throat go too dry to ask questions, just weakly trying to swing your legs, where they hung off the other side of the desk and could only blink the salt out of your eyes as he leaned closer, chin and high collared coat visible in the light. “The game is one of… resistance. Of seeing just how long you’ll last.”

He tilted his head, and you caught a glimpse of something along his upper cheek. “Not going to ask what you’ll be lasting through? Then I guess it’ll just be a surprise.” 

He stopped talking, and the droning began, again. Only, this time, it felt deeper, like a pool of water made into sound. And, like water, it flowed and dragged over and at the limbs, making everything that was just a moment before absolute panic slow, sluggish and relaxed. You’d expected him to do something during all this time, and yet he seemed content to run his fingers through your hair, his other hand along your front. You weren’t certain when his grip had changed from binding to gentling.

Nor were you certain when your kicking legs had fallen to hang, limply, over the edge of the desk, the tight, painful needle-like pressure in your lungs eased, or why you weren’t trying to scramble up to escape now that he wasn’t holding you back. All you were certain of was that the droning sound-without-sound was so much closer, and yet just out of reach. You were sure there was a voice, there, but it danced away whenever you thought you’d made out words like bend, soften, relax… 

“That’s because it wouldn’t make sense if you could hear your own story being told.” The much clearer voice would have made you jump, if you weren’t as deeply enthralled by the soft drone and touches. “Don’t worry, you’re doing much better than before in following the story.” He smiled, and you saw light glinting off sharply curved teeth, too long to be human. “Not so well at winning the game, but that was never expected…”

The stroking hand pressed wide over your stomach, possessive and firm. Without quite realizing why, you reached out to grip it, a stray thought to tug it away slipping into that deep, rippling drone until it sank beneath the surface of your thoughts like a stone. 

“No,” he murmured. “You were very much expected to lose.” He was bending down, now, tone losing its mockery for a level of simple intent. “You don’t need to resist.” You could see his face more clearly, now, and realized the odd patch of texture you’d felt had been a strip of bloody bandages over the eyes. Still, you didn’t move, except to lean into the hand cradling your skull. “The thing you’ll learn in this,” he continued, softly, tilting your head ever so slightly to the side, until you couldn’t see him, anymore, “…is that cooperation is key.” You didn’t mind, too much, as the angle felt a lot more comfortable.

You could just see a wicked grin form in the reflection on the lamp’s base, sharp and feral, before it moved out of sight, downwards. You nuzzled further into his hand.

“You are bad at games, but you might make for the Perfect Subject, you know.” Something warm and sharp sealed to your throat as you hummed agreement.


End file.
